


Tempering the Blades

by liliaeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-13 20:12:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liliaeth/pseuds/liliaeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heaven and hell had their own destinies planned, one problem with that, they didn't foresee CPS getting involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Abandoned

**Author's Note:**

> mention of child abuse, both suspected and real

From: Anael, First Seraphim of the 10th Garrison  
To: Michael, regent of heaven, Zachariah, second seraphim and first Clerk of the 10th Garrison , Raphael, master of the storms and guardian of the prophets  
Sent: Mon, Mar 23, 1992 3:30 pm  
Subject: Urgent developments in the Winchester observation  
My lord Michael, 

I understand business on earth is not your priority, especially now that the multidimensional wavelength channel has been activated. But I fear that my lord’s bloodline may be in danger. 

Further instructions would be appreciated.

Anael,  
First Seraphim of the 10th Garrison

PS: Do any of you know how hard it is to get those knuckleheads over at the human police force to take you seriously when you try to tell them a bunch of skinwalkers has attacked some kids? I had to find a Vessel, which is not that easy to do, and they actually thought I was making a prank call. 

  
[   
](http://s850.photobucket.com/albums/ab67/lorekrajsman/?action=view&current=shoes.jpg)   


 

He’d faced ghouls less scary than the sight that awaited him behind the closed door. Sam seemed small, sitting there on a chair in front of the principal’s desk. His Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles backpack that Dean had found for him at their latest trip to the Salvation Army stood at the foot of his chair. Sam froze when he saw Dean coming in and almost dropped the chocolate chip cookie he was eating. His eyes went wide for a moment, before he sat up; only the principal’s motion kept him in the chair. Dean considered just grabbing Sam’s hand, pulling his kid brother out of the far too cozy chair and making a run for it. If they got to the motel, he had about a hundred dollars waiting in the cutlery drawer. It was supposed to be for rent money, but Dad would understand if he used it to get to uncle Bobby’s instead.

Dean put down his bag and cringed at the change of weight on his unharmed shoulder as it moved through to the other side. Sam seemed ready to get out of his chair and help out, but Dean quickly glared at him to stay put. Dean’s collarbone had been busted pretty bad when they went up against those skinwalkers last week. Dad had bound it up pretty tight before he left and Sam had helped him keep it clean. But it still hurt. Sam wasn’t as good at bandaging as Dad was. Not that Dean would tell him that. Sam had been so proud to help out, Dean wasn’t going to be a crybaby and make Sam feel bad.

Unfortunately it seemed that the stupid woman had noticed his cringe. Why couldn’t she just pretend she hadn’t seen anything? Why did that stupid teacher start nagging him about his bruises anyway? They weren’t really that bad, just the small cut at his lips and come coloration around his left eye and the bruise on his forehead, but… He wouldn’t have even bothered coming to school if it had really been as bad as all that. Just the collarbone, just the headache, if he couldn’t even handle that, then how could he ever be a Hunter? Just too bad that the Advil wasn’t working.

The principal said something about trying to reach their dad all day. Dean tried to pretend that he wasn’t worried. But he knew well enough how bad cell reception could get once you were in the woods. But what else was Dad supposed to do? They’d arrived in the area thinking there was only one werewolf. They hadn’t been expecting a whole pack of skinwalkers instead. Nothing they couldn’t handle, they’d gotten away after all.

Sure Dean got bruised up a bit, but at least he’d gotten Sam to the car before anything really bad had happened to him. He’d managed to shoot two of the skinwalkers before they got too close, but it was hard shooting at moving targets, especially when you were running. Dean was out of ammo before he managed to get himself into the car. The damn thing had even managed to get its claws on him, he’d had to bat the last one off with the butt of his shotgun.

Dad hadn’t been too happy about that either.

Not that he could tell the principal about that. No, as far as his principal knew, he’d fallen off of his bike. Even if he didn’t have a bike to fall off from. But she didn’t need to know that either.

Not like he should even expect his dad to answer his phone. Even if the call did get through, it wasn’t like he could take time out of watching for skinwalkers while he was in the middle of a hunt. He probably had his phone turned off so it wouldn’t give away his position.

There was a soft knock on the door, before it opened to show a short black woman with a file folder in her hands. Light brown hair circling her face like a crown. She would have been pretty if Dean didn’t have a good idea of who, or more accurately what, she was, and what she’d come here to do.

“Dean, Sam,” the principal said, Dean glared at her, “this is Mrs. Turner from Child Protective Services. She would like to ask you and your brother some questions.” No, Dean definitely didn’t think she was pretty, even if she did smile at him and Sam, no matter how those dimples played on her chin, or how she reminded him of Denise Huxtable. He wished he could just tell Sam to stop smiling back at her. He was eight now, he should know better than to smile at social workers. They were evil. As evil as ghouls. Worse. Ghouls just tried to eat you, social workers split up families.

They all tried to be so nice, pretended they were your new best friends. That they were just here to help you and everything would be fine if you only just cooperated. Even Sam knew better than to trust one of them. And that kid would trust anyone. Dean still had to pull him away from old men in raincoats and make sure he didn’t take candy from strangers. Hell, he’d accepted a treat from the principal while he waited for Dean to get pulled out of class as well. Sam was stupid that way.  
So Dean did the only thing he could do, he crossed his arms, refused to answer questions and when he did it was with the most smart-ass reply he could come up with. He wanted them to hate his guts, so they’d leave him and Sammy alone.

He needed Dad.

 

  
[   
](http://s850.photobucket.com/albums/ab67/lorekrajsman/?action=view&current=shoes.jpg)   


From: Michael, regent of heaven  
To: Anael, First Seraphim of the 10th Garrison  
Zachariah, second seraphim and first Clerk of the 10th Garrison , Raphael, master of the storms and guardian of the prophets  
Sent: mon, Mar 23, 1992 5:30 pm  
Subject: re: Urgent developments in the Winchester observation

Dearest sister,  
I understand your urgency in this matter. But as you are well aware the multidimensional wavelength channel may be essential in our victory against that vile betrayer of all we stand for, the dark stain upon our kindred and enemy of all that exists. Only proper communication can ensure the defeat of our lost brother. It was good of our brother Zachariah to ensure that deal with the human Bill Gates to build this channel in exchange for his welfare on earth and in heaven.

We will keep the situation with the children of the bloodline in mind, their safety is as always paramount in our efforts.

Michael,  
Regent of heaven, First Archangel of the ranks, commander of the Garrisons.

PS: humans can be … odd. It may be best to simply point a hunter or two at the area, shine a few Omens their way. They seem to like that kind of stuff.

 

  
[   
](http://s850.photobucket.com/albums/ab67/lorekrajsman/?action=view&current=shoes.jpg)   


 

Daisy hated it when she was the enemy. She’d gone into this job to help children like she herself had been: desperate for help, but too scared to ask for it. She remembered those days, sitting quiet in the back, straightening her hair like mommy told her, because it would make her more easily accepted. Because it was hard enough being mulatto without putting an emphasis on her black heritage. Because black women who kept their hair natural were making a statement. And in her father’s home, making a statement had been the last thing she’d ever wanted to do.

All that had changed when her grandmother finally stopped in and rescued her and her brother. From her father’s fists and her mother’s passiveness in allowing her children to be hurt, as long as she herself was safe. Grandma had always told her to be proud of who and what she was. That she had nothing to be ashamed of. She’d loved those days, sitting in her grandmother’s lap, while grandma took care of her hair, braiding it, teaching her to love every curl as a part of herself.  
As much as the nose on her face and the nails on her fingers.

These days she’d get comments on her hair at times, other women, even black women, telling her she should straighten her hair, that it’d make her look more professional, less radical. She shrugged them off and did what she wanted to do. It was her hair and no one could tell her what to do with it, but her. How could the children trust her, if she couldn’t even be honest to herself about who and what she was?

The Winchester boys. Two children, age thirteen and eight who were flagged in six states, and that’s just the ones that bothered to investigate beyond an initial call. Seems like the father had caused warning signs in dozens of towns and states, but tended to grab his boys and run before anyone could call him on it.

The boys had to have been in over eight schools in the past five years alone, and at the pace it was going, that number would only increase.

Both boys were often seen with bruises or other injuries, especially the oldest one, Dean. Dean had been caught shoplifting at least twice. The father had said it was simply a matter of children being children, and that he’d be grounded for it. But she couldn’t stop questioning the statement, since he hadn’t tried to steal just toys or candy, but plain old bread and peanut butter. What kid went to shoplift and tried to slip out with apples? He’d been eight the first time, ten, the second time. Another report mentioned the theft of Christmas presents at the home right next to the one the Winchesters had been renting only a few months back. And those were the ones on report. Who knows how many times the boy had to steal food just to feed himself and his brother and he hadn’t been caught. And how many shop owners might have looked away, thinking ‘it was just a kid’.

Neither of the boys looked starved, but Daisy knew few children that could withstand the temptation of Principal Merton’s cookies. A child that could sit there, ignoring them, was not a healthy child.

Dean wasn’t looking good, and Daisy wondered what the boy had done ‘wrong’ to end up as beaten up as he was. What kind of parent could do that to their own child and then just… leave?

John Winchester had left three days ago. She knew this, because she’d asked the police to keep an eye on the motel that the family was staying at as soon as they’d gotten their first report on Winchester. The motel clerk didn’t have a single good thing to say about the man. Said he paid from week to week, and usually sent in the kid to pay for him. The only time he did show up, he was often covered in a heavy coat and had a look on his face that made you want to run and hide. He said the man wore a scowl as was etched on his face. Was he the same way around his children? Did they ever get to see him smile, or be happy? What was he like in private?

The bruises were bad enough, but she wished she knew what other injuries the kids were hiding under their layers of threadbare clothing. She wondered if either of the boys had ever possessed anything that was new, rather than pulled out of the racks at the Salvation Army. Not that that was something you could judge them on. There were plenty of loving, caring parents who just didn’t have the funds to give their children the best of the best. And she’d seen homes in the best neighborhoods, with children given every toy in existence, but who beat up their children as soon as the doors hid them from sight. Her own parents had given her and her brother all they wanted or needed, everything except for safety. Even knowing that, the look of them was worrisome.

Two children, no permanent address, a dead mother, a father pulled out of his roots by disaster. She knew she had to save them, even if it did mean taking them away from the only home they had left.

The father’s abandonment—and what else would you call it when a man left two children on their own for three days—was enough to get her a court order to pull them out of the house and a warrant to check their living environment. She’d hoped to talk to the man first, give him a chance to explain himself. But it seemed even that was impossible.

She just wished she could save them. Somebody had to.

 

  
[   
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From: Michael, regent of heaven  
To:, Zachariah, second seraphim and first Clerk of the 10th Garrison, , , Raphael, master of the storms and guardian of the prophets , Azazel, recipient of sin Sent: mon, Mar 23, 1992 5:30 pm  
Subject: re: Urgent developments in the Winchester observation

It seems we have a problem.

Michael,  
Regent of heaven, First Archangel of the ranks, commander of the Garrisons.

 

  
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The social worker wouldn’t even let them go home on their own. Seems like they were a ‘flight risk’. Damn right they were. First chance they got, they were out of there. Dean had even considered an escape attempt when they stopped off in the bathroom before leaving school. But then he’d checked outside the door, while Sam was washing his hands and noticed that there was a cop on watch for them. They needed to find Dad. Even if they couldn’t find him, if Dean got his hands on a phone, he might have been able to reach Pastor Jim, Caleb or Uncle Bobby.

There was a cop with them when they got to go back home to get some of their stuff. The Impala wasn’t there, so no Dad. Dean held himself strong, but he was still shivering after the visit to the doctor’s office. He’d tried to pretend it didn’t matter, that he didn’t care when they catalogued his bruises and checked him for other injuries. He knew he didn’t imagine the nurse's eyes tearing up when she saw some of the scars on his back and legs. He wanted to yell at her, tell her they were nothing to pity him over. They were marks of pride, damn it. He got them protecting people, taking care of Sammy, watching his dad’s back.

They meant he was a hero, like Dad! But he couldn’t tell them that. They’d never believe him.  
Sam was following his lead, but Dean had no idea what way he should be leading. The cops wouldn’t let them out of their sight long enough to get away and even if they did, where would they even go?  
Dean opened the door to the motel room and went in to get his stuff. The social worker froze in the door. Sam instantly moved to the bed, grabbing his favorite book from underneath his pillow. Dean wanted to tell him to go to the kitchen and get their money, but he wasn’t sure how that would be taken. He was looking over his shoulder as he went there and took the envelope out of the drawer. He quickly turned around to see what the woman was doing— seemed like she was just standing there while Sam pulled their bags from under the bed. He wished he knew what she was thinking. Sure, the place smelled, but that wasn’t his fault.

He’d done what he could to keep the place up, washing the sheets after they got here, cleaning the floors and closets. It wasn’t his fault there was mold on the walls of the bedroom as well as the bathroom. He’d tried to wipe it off—Sammy had helped—but his arm had hurt too much and it kept coming back no matter what he did.

Sam was having trouble getting the bags, so Dean bowed down next to him to help him out. He almost shrieked in pain as he did so, accidentally dislodging the sawed-off shotgun that lay next to the bag. The cop stared at that, but Dean just pulled it out, checked if it was loaded and put it on the bed, ready to put it in his bag.

“You can leave the gun, Dean.” He glared at the social worker, looking away from Sam as he did so. But he could hear Sam bounce on the bed. He silently begged Sam to just keep his mouth shut and let Dean handle this.

“But that’s mine,” Dean couldn’t stop himself from saying. “You said I could get my stuff, and that’s ‘my stuff’. I sawed it off myself.” It was his first attempt at it and Dad had only told him what to do while he’d been working on it.

“Dean, could you please, take all your weapons out of your bag, please.” She sounded awkward, he had no idea what was up with that. Dad would have just ordered him to take them out, not like she couldn’t just do the same, pretending to be all nice with her please and ‘could you’ only made it look as if she was pretending he actually had a choice here. But it was clear she was insisting.  
He shrugged it off, how literal should he take her anyway. If she said his bag, that mean he could leave Sammy’s untouched, right?

“You wouldn’t want one of the other children in the foster home to hurt themselves, would you?” Dean glared at her. “I’ll keep them safe, I promise, but it’s better if you don’t take them.”  
Dean pouted at her, hoping to change her mind. “But they’re mine.” He knew she wasn’t going to change her mind on this. And he remembered Dad’s words about not calling attention to them. About how people might not understand about kids handling weapons and they might cause issues about it, like calling CPS.

Well, CPS was here now and they were taking issue with it, and if he kept refusing, they might get even more suspicious.

So he opened his bag and started pulling out some of his stuff: the throwing knife he’d gotten last year and his silver knives. He left his matches and was hoping she didn’t notice his bag of lock picks. Then he opened Sam’s bag and took out his brother’s knife as well. He was just glad that no one noticed the pack of salt, still at the bottom of the bag.

The woman was staring at him and Dean bit his lip, wondering what else she was going to ask about. “Anything else, Dean?”

He looked down and pulled his Swiss army knife out of his pocket. “It was a birthday present,“ he said. Which wasn’t a lie, Pastor Jim had given it to him, about a month after his birthday last year. The knife was silver and there was a crucifix embossed into the pure steel of the heft. The pastor had given it to him right before they headed out after that werewolf. Dean hadn’t been able to use it then, but it had been a comfort to have it on him.

“Are there any toys you want to take?”

Yes, he wanted his knives, thank you very much. But he was pretty sure that wasn’t what she meant. So instead he grabbed Sammy’s toy cars and his own comic books. Sammy naturally grabbed his school books and they were ready to go.

Dean was glad they’d only just done the laundry, even though the place next door was charging an arm and a leg for even a single load. And there was that creepy guy who always seemed to show up as soon as they sat down at the Laundromat, just staring at them.

The woman was pushing her fingers through the salt at the windows. Dean wished he could wipe that look off her face, her pretending she understood. She didn’t understand squat.

 

  
[   
](http://s850.photobucket.com/albums/ab67/lorekrajsman/?action=view&current=shoes.jpg)   


 

From: Azazel, recipient of sin  
To: Alistair  
Sent: mon, Mar 23, 1992 6:30 pm  
Subject: re: Urgent developments in the Winchester observation

My good friend, 

I hope this message finds you well.

Thank you so much for that recipe you sent me in your last response. The children were highly appreciative of your kind gifts towards them.

I understand that Lilith may have been causing you some troubles, I give you my world that if plans fall as they should, she will be out of your way in a few more years. I do hope that you will be able to keep her entertained for a few more centuries. I assure you, it will all be worth it in the end. 

I’ll ensure to send you those hellhound puppies you asked for, along with them I have sent a selection of pink ribbons and supplies for cake batter. Our father says that those will be highly successful to keep our dearest mother’s mind off her upcoming celebration. 

But back to business,

I have been alerted of a small snag in our plans in preparing our father’s Vessel. I would considerably appreciate your aid in handling the situation on earth. 

I would have sent the kids, but I fear that my daughter might be a bit too… impulsive to handle a matter this delicate. As for the boy...

I eagerly await your response.

Azazel.

 

  
[   
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Daisy had stayed with Sam while the doctor was looking over Dean’s injuries. Sam kept darting looks over to the examination room. She could imagine that the little boy believed that if he didn’t keep his eyes on his brother, then Dean would be taken away from him.

She wished she could promise that nobody would ever separate them. It was hard to find families that were willing to take two children in at the same time. But she made a silent vow to do anything in her power to keep them together.

Dean visibly winced when the doctor made him take off his shirt for examination. The doctor removed Dean’s bandages, checked over the boy’s collarbone and replaced the wrapping that was supposed to keep his arm in place. Daisy turned her eyes away from the older boy and returned her attention to Sam. “He’ll be fine, Sam. No need to worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Sam lied. Daisy didn’t call him on it; children hated it when you did that.  
“So how did your brother hurt himself?” she asked, not really hoping to get a real answer from the younger boy. She knew better than to expect the truth.

“He fell. Dad took care of him.”

“He fell?”

Sam just nodded. “He fell off his bike.” Yes, the mysterious bike that he never came to school with. “It broke,” Sam continued. “Dad took him to his doctor.”

“Where’s your father, Sam?”

“At work.” Instant answer, no hesitation. “He’ll be home soon.”

Daisy was sure he would be. Eventually. Winchester would come back for his kids, in the past he always had. She knew his kind of men. It’s not that they didn’t love their children—she was sure that in his mind, he did—but they weren’t his priority. Other things in his life were more important to him, but that didn’t mean that he’d give them up even if it would give them a better life if he did.

“Dad works a lot, so that he can take care of us and keep us safe,” Sam stated, while biting his lip. It felt like a standard answer that had been repeated to him a couple dozens of times whenever he himself would ask where Daddy was and why he wasn’t home yet.

“I’m sure he does, Sam. “

It took almost half an hour longer before the doctor was done. He motioned at her that he needed to talk to her, while the nurse, and the police officer stood at the door in case Dean tried to bolt, kept an eye on the two kids. She didn’t even want to consider where he’d try to run to.  
She closed the door behind her while he moved to his desk.

 

“It’s not looking good, Mrs. Turner.” She’d been worried about that. Daisy knew the doctor quite well. Matt Green was a good man; he had children of his own and would have loved to be able to tell her that everthing was fine with the boy and that she should just send him home with his dad.

“Aside from the obvious bruises, and the busted collarbone, which was not set professionally, he’s got several more scrapes and scars spread over his body. Some of them older, others more recent. The boy’s also suffering from malnutrition.”

“He doesn’t look it.”

“Oh, it’s not that he hasn’t been fed regularly, I’m sure his father left them enough money to eat on a daily basis. But he’s a thirteen year old boy, and thirteen year olds are not known for their balanced diets at the best of times. He’s probably been feeding himself and his brother on whatever looked good and was cheap enough to afford. The only reason he isn’t overweight, is because his father has had him on a strict exercise regimen that would make a grown marine worry.“

“That’s hardly a reason to…”

“Oh, I know, if malnutrition were abuse, half the kids in the country would have to be taken from their homes.” Matt grinned as he said that. “The problem is that in the long run it will stunt his growth and cause many health problems if it isn’t dealt with on time. But the malnutrition isn’t the real issue. I took a set of x-rays while I was taking care of his collarbone. The boy shows signs of several previous breaks in his bones. His left arm has been reset at least twice and his right leg was broken no more than two years ago. I found fractures in his skull, that would point towards him having a mild concussion. When I asked him if he blacked out after he fell off his bike, he refused to answer.”

Daisy shivered. Three days, the boys had been alone for three days, and all that time the boy had been suffering from a possible concussion. And his father hadn’t even noticed or cared. She prayed to God it wasn’t the second.

“Is he...”

“He’s fine now, he got lucky. But it could have been a lot worse.” Matt sounded angry, but Daisy couldn’t blame him for it. “He’s a tough kid, he’ll probably get over it.” But she couldn’t help read the 'but he shouldn’t have to' line underneath what Matt actually said.

“I’ll do what I can, Doctor Green.”

“I’ll write up a note for his medication. Make sure that he takes it. He’ll also need to wear a sling and have someone keep an eye on his bandages, see that he doesn’t move his arm. It’s probably best to make sure he has a nurse over at least once a week and I expect to see him back in two weeks or so.”

“I’ll make an appointment for him with the desk.”

 

“So how’s Carl and the kids?” he asked her. She couldn’t help a smile as she thought about her own children. The twins were with their grandmother while she ws at work and she was sure the poor woman was having a hard time dealing with both of them.

She wished she could talk about them and spend some time chatting with Matt, but she couldn’t. Not when there were two kids waiting for her attention. Even if they did want her gone. But they had to go get their stuff at home. She was almost hopeful that their father would have arrived by now. That maybe somehow the man had returned and she could ask him questions about what he’d been doing and what had been so important that it had made him leave as he had.

But he wasn’t.

She’d known what motel the boys had been staying in, but even knowing that hadn’t prepared her for the horror of the place. The motel did allow for long term occupants, sure you had your typical rent-per-hour rooms, but it also rented units like this one, with built-in kitchens. She couldn’t help notice the state of the place, or the hookers hanging around out front. There was a laundry place next door with boarded off windows and graffiti on the walls.

It made the hairs on her back stand up. She wanted to grab the boys, put them back in the car and get them out of here as soon as she could.

Three days, on their own. She knew of at least one sexual offender staying in the immediate area. It made her sick.

When the door opened, the first thing she noticed was the stench.

Oh, the room was clean, the floor was clearly washed and she could see that the kitchen cabinets had been wiped down, at least up to the level that a thirteen year old could reach. The sheets smelled fresh, even if she couldn’t help but notice dark stains that had been given up on ten turns in the washer ago. She noticed carvings in the door stiles, but shrugged them off.  
The room was mostly bare: there were books stacked up on the desk, and if it weren’t for a few comics on one of the beds and some toys on the kitchen table, she wouldn’t have known that two children lived here.

Dean immediately headed to the kitchen while Sam headed for the bed closest to the door and pulled a duffel bag out from under the bed. They hadn’t even unpacked their clothes, not that she’d trust the cleanliness of the cupboards either if she were them. Dean came to help Sam, pulling out a second one when she noticed something getting pulled out along with the bags.

Oh god no, Dean didn’t even hesitate when the gun was pulled out in the open. He just pulled it out, and opened it up. Daisy couldn’t help staring at this young child, handling a weapon like that as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He was a thirteen years old with no parental guidance, and a gun under his bed.

She pulled together all the courage she could find and took a step forward.

“You can leave the gun behind, Dean.”

“But that’s mine. You said I could get my stuff, and that’s ‘my stuff’. I sawed it off myself.” It broke her heart how proud he sounded over it. She could almost imagine it, a father and son sharing a moment together, teaching the boy how to handle a gun. Hell, in this neighborhood it might have even saved their lives eventually. But it was still a gun and if this was the one he kept in plain sight, then what else was there?

“Dean, could you please, take all your weapons out of your bag, please.” She was almost surprised that her voice didn’t break on the words. She wished she sounded confident about it. But all she could think of, was how no foster parents would let them into the house if they had any weapons with them. And if there was any chance to get these kids in a normal family rather than in an institution, she’d take it. Because they both so desperately needed it. Even if, especially if neither of them realized it. “You wouldn’t want one of the other children in the foster home to hurt themselves, would you?” Because if she told them the truth, that the judge would sooner separate them, than let Dean keep his weapons, who knows what he’d do in his panic? She recognized the kind of kid Dean was. He was the protector, the caretaker. Give him a chance to think of others and he’d grab it.... “I’ll keep them safe, I promise, but it’s better if you don’t take them.”

“But they’re mine.” The poor kid sounded as heartbroken about the weapons, as that one kid last year who’d been told he had to leave his dog behind, because the new foster home couldn’t allow pets. She’d managed to arrange for another family that would allow the animal then. It was lucky that the officer was still there, or she’d have given in to Dean’s face as well.

In the end, Dean was the one who gave in, but it came close.

The young boy opened up his duffel bag and pulled out a couple of knives from amongst a series of shirts, jeans and underpants that seemed to be all he owned. She figured he’d leave it at that, but then he opened his brother’s bag and pulled a knife out of that one as well. Sam was only eight. She glanced over at the little boy who had sat down on the other bed right behind Dean. Sam sat there, his arms crossed and his eyes darting between her and his brother. Sam didn’t say a word, but you could see him daring her to accuse them of something, anything. On an adult, his look might have been scary, on a child, it was weirdly adorable.

“Anything else, Dean?” she barely got the words out, hoping they’d caught it all. But then the boy’s eyes turned downwards and he pulled a pocket knife out of his jacket.

“It was a birthday present. “ It was all he said as he pulled out a concealed weapon that was illegal to be brought to school in pretty much most states.

She wanted to stroke her hand through his hair, to pull him into a hug and tell him there were things other than guns and knives and weapons in the world that you could get attached to. To tell him that he didn’t need to defend Sammy and himself anymore, that he’d be safe and everything would be alright. But he wouldn’t believe it. Not yet, she hoped that some day soon, that would change. “Are there any toys you want to take?”

As he went for the comics, and while Sam grabbed some of the toy cars, she couldn’t help but look away and take a closer look at the books on the desk. The names were… odd. Not all of them were in English, but she could see pentagrams on at least two of the covers. The more she saw of the room, the more it told her about the kind of man John Winchester was and the more she feared for the boy’s safety with that kind of man in their life.

She moved to the window, hoping beyond hope to see the black Impala drive up on the parking lot. Winchester still had a chance, all he had to do, was to arrive now, and have a decent explanation for why he left two underage boys alone in a motel room like this for three days. Just one half way good excuse, and the judge would probably take his side and let him keep the kids for at least a while longer. Despite common beliefs, CPS didn’t really take your kids away for the least half bit of an excuse. Sure, the Winchesters might get some more home visits, be advised on counseling options and parenting classes, but it took a lot before CPS could actually remove children from their natural parents. Sometimes she felt it took too much.

But Winchester didn’t arrive, instead she wondered about the dust on the windowsills. No, not dust. For a moment she felt an even worse terror grip her heart and she picked some up, wishing she knew more about heroine or other drugs. Did they look like this? She wouldn’t know, she’d never seen any outside of the movies. It couldn’t be, could it? No matter how much of a smart-ass Dean could be, if there were any drugs in the room, she was sure he’d act more worried about it. But he hadn’t even tried to wipe it away before she could see it.

Sam was clinging on to Dean’s shirt, carrying the biggest bag. The police officer stopped them and grabbed both bags before Dean could take one of his own. It saved Daisy from doing so. Dean shouldn’t be doing any lifting at the moment, in fact he should be wearing the sling Dr. Green had given him; she just wished she knew what he’d done with the thing.

She shook her head and led her way to the car. Still no John Winchester. She wondered when the man would even find out that his children had been removed from his custody.


	2. Feeling Safe

From: Zachariah, second seraphim and first Clerk of the 10th Garrison,   
To: Azazel, recipient of sin   
Sent: mon, Mar 23, 1992 5:30 pm  
Subject: re: Urgent developments in the Winchester observation

I have come to understand that though our eventual goals are in competition with one another, we do have some mutual targets to achieve in order for both sides to fully prepare. It would be helpful to our joint venture if we could discuss the current matter at hand for our combined benefit.

Zachariah,   
Second Seraphim of the Tenth Garrison, First Clerk of Heaven

 

[ ](http://s850.photobucket.com/albums/ab67/lorekrajsman/?action=view&current=shoes.jpg)

 

Sam had fallen asleep about an hour ago. Dean had heard him crying in the top bunk of the bunk bed, but he’d pretended not to hear it. Sam didn’t understand why Dean couldn’t just solve their problems for them. So far, Dean had always dealt with everything that bothered either of them. But this, this was beyond even him. He held tight to his pillow and stared at the light shining in the room through an opening between the door and the floor.

Dean hadn’t even thought twice about taking the bottom bed. The beds were too small to sleep together, and he was supposed to look after Sam. Couldn’t do that if he had to crawl all the way down to get to whatever might attack them here.

The lady of the house just seemed to see it as ‘sweet.’ He hated that word. Well, he hated it when he hadn’t been playing up a situation to get it. This wasn’t like on a case, where he behaved his most adorable to make things easier for his dad, or to stop suspicions that they were up to something. Who’d think bad of a father and son just visiting a grandfather’s grave after all? These women though, the foster woman was all understanding, sitting there offering little miss anti-NRA a cup of tea before they got up from the table and went off to talk about something where neither Dean nor Sam could listen in. Not that he didn’t try.

There had been three kids in the kitchen when they arrived: a kid, called Mike, who was about two years older than Dean, took over helping the toddler in the baby chair eat his potatoes, while a little girl with pig tails was finishing a drawing at a children’s table in the corner. The fostermom called her Suzie; Mike, Suzie and Joey, how domestic could you get? The place was spotless and shiny and gave out on a garden with a children’s swing, and Dean hated it at first sight.

Sam tried to follow the two women to the door, but stopped when the older teenager in the room smirked at them. “Won’t work, they’re probably in the back of the living room and that door ain’t near flimsy enough to listen through. Believe me, I’ve tried.” The kid’s teeth shone white, there were soft blemishes on his black skin circling the left of his face, scar tissue.

Mrs. Turner might be all, “It’s just temporary, until your father gets his business in order,” but Dean knew better than to believe that kind of crap. Dad had warned him often enough: once you entered ‘the system’ it was almost impossible to get back out. This place might be willing to take them both, but he didn’t even know how long that’d take before someone said they had to be split up ‘for their own sake’. And then either Sam or him would be moved and they might never see one another again. And who’d protect Sammy if that happened?

Sam and Dean had gotten some leftovers for dinner. The foster lady said they could have something else, but Dean hadn’t been paying attention. He hadn’t wanted to talk to her or listen to her, or mind her in any way. The only reason he’d eaten was because Sam wouldn’t eat unless Dean did. And Sam needed to eat—the kid was tired and kinda drowsy already and he’d be too weak to escape if he didn’t have his four meals a day.

Dean got out of bed and stared out the window. The cop’s car was still there, keeping an eye on them. Maybe even waiting for Dad to show up and try and steal them away from the law. That’d be awesome if he did. Dean couldn’t help imagine his father’s car swooping in to the rescue, while the bad guys were all gaping madly or trying to shoot him, but missing every time, because if there was anything that Star Wars had taught him it was that bad guys always sucked at hitting anything that moved.

It made Dean wonder if the cops didn’t have more to do with their time than to try and stop a kid from getting back home? But then what else were those donut munchers supposed to do, not like they were useful for anything else.

Sam hadn’t stirred, even as Dean opened the bedroom door and started heading downstairs. Mrs. Sunshine was watching TV, while the Mister was helping out the older kid with something at the living room table. Dean stared at them from the stairway and tried to stay out of sight.   
“Dean? Are you alright, honey?” He startled, peeping out from behind the banister. Shit, caught. He needed an excuse, so what would the do-gooders buy?

“I just wanted some water.” And what a cliché to go with, that one would win an award at Clichés R Us, easily.

“Of course, sweetie.” And they could just stop calling him stuff like that, because he was nobody’s sweetie. Mrs. Sunshine got up from the couch and led the way to the kitchen.

“I can get it,” he wanted to say, but she had a glass out of the cupboard before he could do so and was already heading to the fridge.

“So what’s your pick? Water, soda, some chocolate milk?”

Dean couldn’t help but stare at the stuff in the fridge. It was stuffed full, making him wonder how anyone could even get anything out of it, without half the crap falling out. It wasn’t even one of those half-sized mini-fridges like the ones they had in most motels. No, this one was huge, if empty. Dean could probably crawl into it and still have space to move.

Back at home, the fridge was mostly used to hold Dad’s beer and maybe some cheese to go on their bread or pizzas for dinner. But this one… there were eggs and vegetables and a box with over five kinds of meat to put on your bread, yogurts and pudding and … it was like staring straight into paradise. Dean wondered if that was a pie box he spotted at the bottom.

Since he wasn’t answering, the woman pulled out a bottle of chocolate milk and filled his glass with it. Dean stared at it before picking it up.

“Don’t worry, Dean. Everything will be fine.” But it wasn’t. They were away from Dad! And they were with people who didn’t understand. What if something came after them, came after Sammy? “We’ve had a lot of children come through here and I promise, most of them do get to go home to their parents. “

Dean wasn’t sure if he could believe her, if he could dare to hope.

“It’ll be fine.”

“I want to go home,” he whispered. “Dad won’t know where we are, when he comes home and we aren’t there.” Dad would be worried sick, and Dean’s shoulder was hurting and his head was hurting and he wanted his dad, now.

“I’m sure the police will tell him the both of you are safe, Dean. I’m sure he’ll come back soon.”  
Of course he would. Not unless something happened to him and he got hurt. But he hadn’t been gone that long, so he’d have to come back and then he’d be mad, because Dean did something wrong and got him and Sam taken away.

“We were doing fine, we didn’t need ‘help’,” Dean growled out, putting air quotes around the word ‘help’. He wasn’t a baby, and neither was Sam. They’d both been safer in the motel than they’d be here, among civilians.

“Oh, Dean.” She looked like she was about to say something else, and if she tried to hug him then… he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. But she didn’t.

“Thank you for the chocolate, ma’am. “

“It’s fine, Dean. If you or Sam need any more, just ask.” She moved back to the living room and stopped halfway through the door. “If you’re still hungry, there’s apple pie in the fridge.” His eyes went to the fridge before he could stop himself, and by the time he did, she was already back in the living room. She was holding her arms, and sat down slumped.

He hoped he hadn’t hurt her feelings. She didn’t seem so bad, she just wasn’t Dad.

 

[ ](http://s850.photobucket.com/albums/ab67/lorekrajsman/?action=view&current=shoes.jpg)

 

From: Alistair   
To: Azazel, recipient of sin   
Sent: tue Mar 24, 1992   
Subject: re: Urgent developments in the Winchester observation

Oh my dear boy, 

It is always good to get word from you, they are such a nice interruption in the tedium of hell. It is so difficult to find entertaining souls these days. It gets bothersome to keep ones skills up to peak efficiency, when the canvas I have to work with is of such deplorably mediocre material. 

I truly wish I could aid you, but is there no one else who could handle matters on earth? That arctic wasteland tends to play such havoc on my aching joints.

Hoping to find you well, 

Alistair

 

[ ](http://s850.photobucket.com/albums/ab67/lorekrajsman/?action=view&current=shoes.jpg)

 

John Winchester finally showed up a day later, roaring into the lot in a big, black beast of a car, and storming into the office like an avalanche expecting to push everything out of its path. When they actually had him wait for her, instead of letting him in right away, he had shouted at the desk clerk and kept it up for ten straight minutes. One of the cops at hand to take care of cases just like this finally had to come up to him and order him to sit down, before he could go after the poor girl cowering behind the desk.

Daisy had been busy with another client: a sixteen year old girl who’d become a mother before she even knew how to take care of herself. Jolene insisted on keeping her child, even though her mother had thrown her out, and the baby’s father refused to help. All Daisy was able to do was give the young girl the number for a support group and volunteer groups that would help her with paperwork to get emancipated and secondhand baby furniture to set herself up in an apartment of her own.

By the time Jolene left, Daisy had to give herself a moment before continuing on to her next client. She’d had five this morning alone and she knew there’d be many more before her day was done.

She’d been warned about Winchester’s arrival, but seeing him was a lot more impressive than just hearing about the man.

He was almost a head taller than her and seemed to be built out of pure muscle. Dark smudges stood out on his pale face, as if he’d driven here straight from work. He was dressed in an adult version of what his children had been dressed in: layers upon layers and a heavy leather coat. Well, he probably wasn’t wearing any kind of Batman shirt underneath, at least she didn’t think he would. She could see that Dean was trying to copy his father, in attitude as well as in outfit.   
“Mister Winchester, thank you for coming. We’ve been hoping to talk to you.” For the past three days or so, ever since a teacher had reported Dean’s injuries and the motel’s clerk had confirmed their fears, letting them know the boys were on their own. Finding out that the family was flagged, being unable to reach the elder Winchester at the number he’d handed to the school and then discovering that three days later the kids were still on their own… It made her wonder just what had been so important that he’d left his children behind for it.

He smelled of alcohol, but she wasn’t sure if it came off his clothing or off his breath.

“You had no right!” the man yelled, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Mister Winchester, I understand you’re worried, but I assure you, both boys are safe and sound. Please sit down.”

He didn’t seem worried, he seemed pissed off. And for a moment she thought about pressing the button underneath the desk that would call security into her office. But she forced herself to stay calm and stare him down. In the end he took a seat.

“Where are my boys? You can’t just take them, not without even…” Without talking to him? What did he think they’d been trying for the past few days?

“Sir, we’ve been trying to reach you for days. When we realized that the children were unsupervised for three full days, we felt that for their own safety, we had no choice but to temporarily take them into the state’s custody, so that we were able to ensure their well being.”

“I’m back now,” Winchester growled. “And I want my kids back! Now!”

Daisy pulled out the Winchesters' folder, half of it consisted of copies sent through from other offices all over the country. Darren had handed most of it to her, earlier that morning, telling her to handle this with care, they couldn’t risk this case going wrong, for the kids’ sakes.

“Mister Winchester, were you aware that the children had access to both guns and knives in your motel room?”

He didn’t seem surprised by her mention of it. Not that she’d expected him to be.  
“You had no right to search my rooms,” was all he said, affronted, as if they were the bad guys for daring to invade his privacy.

“We did not need to search your rooms, sir. One of the shotguns was in plain sight when I noticed it. Your oldest son removed the rest of the weapons from his bag at my request.”

For a moment she saw a flash of fear in his eyes, but it was all too soon replaced with even more anger. Like sitting in front of Bruce Banner and hoping he wouldn’t turn green.

“After that, we had no choice but to search the remainder of the room. We discovered several blood-soaked rags in the trash can, little or no food in either the cupboards and the fridge and no sign that any adult had been in the room for at least a few days. “

“Dean’s old enough to look after both of them. I need to work, Dean knows what to do when I’m gone.” It was the first thing he said that wasn’t yelled or screamed in some way. She guessed he could probably be a charmer, when he wanted to be. It was probably where his son got it from.   
“And I can’t afford a babysitter,” he added. She wasn’t sure if the shake in his voice was really as unintended as it sounded.

“Dean is thirteen years old, sir. On top of that, he’s suffering from a broken collarbone that needed to be reset and was still dealing with after effects from a concussion.”

And that was the first time she actually saw genuine shock in his face.

“What concussion, he … busted his collarbone, got bruised up a bit, falling of a bike, that’s all.”

She wasn’t so sure if it really was all. In fact, she was more likely to believe that the boy had done something wrong while the man was drunk, and had gotten pushed against a wall for his troubles. But she had no proof of that, so she didn’t say it out loud.

“I personally took him to the doctor for a checkup Mister Winchester. Dr. Green said Dean recently had a concussion.”

“He didn’t… he didn’t say… he’s supposed to tell me when things are … bad, when it’s serious.”

She didn’t doubt that. She didn’t doubt that Winchester probably never even meant to hurt his son, or force his son into the position of caretaker or leave the children behind, possibly to be preyed upon by whatever slime might be running around the motel that he’d left them at. That didn’t stop him from doing those things, it just meant he hadn’t intended on it.

She forced herself to take a deep breath. “We both want the same thing, sir: to help your children. “

“The best way to help my children is to let them come home,” Winchester growled out.

And the hardest part of it was seeing in the man’s face that he really did mean those words. That he did want what was best for his children, that he probably did the best he could. But how to tell a proud man that his best wasn’t good enough?

 

[ ](http://s850.photobucket.com/albums/ab67/lorekrajsman/?action=view&current=shoes.jpg)

 

From: Azazel, recipient of sin   
To: Zachariah, second seraphim and first Clerk of the 10th Garrison,   
Sent: Tue, Mar 24, 1992   
Subject: re: Urgent developments in the Winchester observation

I would assume we have the same general ideas on how our little problem must be dealt with? I’m sure that our side can be convinced to make a deal, were you to consider actually keeping to your side of the bargain.

Azazel

 

[ ](http://s850.photobucket.com/albums/ab67/lorekrajsman/?action=view&current=shoes.jpg)

 

Dean was messing around with puzzle, only a hundred pieces and he was too dizzy to even get the edges straight. Sam had pitched a fit this morning when they told him to go to school. Dean was stuck behind with the good Mrs. Sunshine. His doctor’s note seemingly allowed him to stay home for at least the week. Not that he liked going to school and sitting in class listening to dull lectures about stuff that didn’t have anything to do with their lives. But it meant leaving Sam on his own and that… that went in against everything he was supposed to do. Besides, it was only nine and he was bored silly already.

Mike had left with both Suzie and Sam, but only after Dean ordered Sam to do as Mike told him to do. Dean might not be too sure about the Sunshine crowd, but he didn’t have much choice about leaving his brother under Mike’s care. He figured the lecture he gave the guy, riddled with plenty of creative threats about what would happen to him if Sammy so much as scratched a knee, would have to suffice. And hey, let someone else deal with Sam’s bitchfaces for once. Sam loved school, but school had taken them away from Dad. Sam was angry and even though Dean wouldn’t blame him for it, he’d be damned if he was going to cope with it all day.

Dean’s shoulder was hurting bad, and he shivered, feeling the pain with every twinge. Mrs. Sunshine, Brenda, had left painkillers out for him, said he could take them if he wanted to. Dean knew the brand, he’d shrugged when she told him that he could always ask for more if he needed them. Instead he picked up only one of them and left the other one in place.

Dean didn’t get it why they were treating him as if he was a cripple, he’d never had anyone nurse him like this before. Well, unless you counted Uncle Bobby. Bobby had a tendency to be a total mother hen whenever Dean got stupid and got himself or Sam sick, or worse, hurt during a hunt.  
He was feeling a bit dizzy and laid down on the couch, shoes still on his feet. He vaguely remembered something about a 'no shoes on the couch' rule, but right now he couldn’t quite remember it. His head was ringing... No, wait, not his head. The phone. Three, four rings, and then someone upstairs picked it up. Probably Brenda.

He wanted to pick up the phone and listen, find out what they were talking about when he wasn’t listening, what plans they might have, what thoughts. But then he realized something: if she was on the phone upstairs, then she’d be occupied, too busy to mind what Dean was doing. He pushed himself up, cringing as a spike of pain was sent through his shoulder.

He grabbed the glass of water and the pills and quickly swallowed one, no more. He wanted—no, needed for his head to be clear. To know what he was doing and make sure Brenda didn’t hear him.  
It was almost too easy to find the right drawer. Took him only opening three of them before he found what he was looking for. A nice big plain steel cutting knife. Not as good as silver, but it’d do the trick well enough. Then he grabbed a chair and pushed it against the cupboard to get to the top boards. The salt was almost in the back, out of the way, probably not needed all that often. Dean grabbed the half-used bag, hiding the knife at the small of his back.

His head was hurting and the pill was starting to make him woozy. Worse, he was getting sleepy. For a moment he considered just sitting down. He pushed the thought away, grabbed the bag of salt and started spreading the white crystals in thick lines around the window ledges and at the bottom of the kitchen door leading outside.

Sammy was in this house; he had to protect Sammy.

He continued on to the living room, spreading more of the salt at the windows there. But what about the front door? If he salted the entrance, it’d just be wiped away as soon as anyone came in. It’d be a waste of good salt and he was almost out of the stuff to begin with.

Then he remembered, barely, an old memory of helping his dad fight Miss Lyle who’d been a demon. The trap Dad used. He thought about carving with the knife. But Brenda had been so nice. Carving up her floor would feel wrong. He didn’t even quite understand why, it’d protect her, but it still felt wrong.

He spread the last of his salt in front of the stairs before getting back up on his feet and grabbing Suzie’s crayons.

He had to sit down after he had it, did so right in front of the carpet lying on the floor behind the front door. He started drawing the demon trap. It was hard to remember it, thinking about getting it right. He wasn’t quite sure if he got the squiggles right. What if he didn’t?

“Dean!” He was finished just as he saw Brenda coming downstairs carrying the two year old who kept happily talking about something involving ducks. “What are you doing?”

“Warded the house,” he whispered. “It’s all safe now, the monsters can’t come in anymore.”

Brenda placed the boy on the floor, and the kid followed her to Dean as she sat down next to him.   
“Is that what the drawing does, Dean?” Neither of them looked at the toddler as he grabbed one of the crayons.

“It traps demons, catches them cold,” Dean said, starting to feel high. “Dad showed me how. How to fight them, the monsters that killed Mom. Everything’s safe now.” He just wanted to lie down and sleep. But he almost fell over as he had to grab the crayon from the kid before he ruined Dean’s trap. Brenda took the crayons and told the little boy to go show Dean his bunny. Dean didn’t need a bunny, but he wouldn’t mind if the kid didn’t mess up his work. Couldn’t do that. Even if he was sleepy.

Brenda let Dean rest his head on her lap, brushing her fingers through his hair. And for a moment, he could almost hear his mother’s voice, singing to him, the tones of Hey Jude a ghostly echo in his mind.

“Daddy told me,” he whispered. “Take Sammy and run. When the fire happened. Sammy’s my job, my responsibility. Mine. You’re pretty. Don’t let him ruin the trap?”

Brenda just sat there, holding him for a few more seconds before leading him to the couch. He almost flinched as he felt the knife still at his back. But she didn’t notice, and that was all that mattered.


	3. Doubts

[ ](http://s850.photobucket.com/albums/ab67/lorekrajsman/?action=view&current=shoes.jpg)

 

From: Azazel, recipient of sin   
To: Alistair   
Sent: wed, Mar 25, 1992 6:30 pm  
Subject: re: Urgent developments in the Winchester observation

My good friend, 

I understand all too well about your reluctance to leave the comforts of home. But I’m afraid that you are the only one I could possibly trust with this mission. The only one who understands the intricacies of the ongoing situation. 

If I were to send one of my children, talented though they may be, they would undoubtedly do something to call attention to themselves. We cannot risk Hunters catching on to what we are doing before the time has come to direct them towards where we want them to go.

I would consider it a great personal favor, were you to handle this situation. 

Azazel.

 

[ ](http://s850.photobucket.com/albums/ab67/lorekrajsman/?action=view&current=shoes.jpg)

“Well of course he can stay.” Daisy almost backed off at the tone of Brenda Maloney’s voice. “I’m not going to turn away a little boy just because he’s scared. I just thought you might want to know, ask his father about it or something.”

Daisy calmed down her breathing, her worries. She couldn’t begin to imagine the amount of times foster parents got scared when an abused kid did something ‘weird’ or ‘strange,’ something they’d learned to make sense of their own lives, their own suffering.

Hell, she had to admit that filling the place with salt wasn’t even close to being the weirdest or most dangerous thing she’d seen a kid do to keep the monsters at bay. She probably should have expected something like that to happen, looking at the state of the motel room that the boys had been staying at. The boys were just trying to replicate the sanctuary they were used to, that made them feel safe.

“I will, Brenda. Thanks for letting me know. I just worry about those boys.”

The words, “you and me both,” continued on in her head as Daisy grabbed a pillow while falling down on the couch next to her husband. Carl pulled her to his chest and brushed a hand through her hair.

“Hard case?” he asked her. She shivered for a moment, before looking back up into his dark brown eyes, touching his thick lips and thinking how much better a man and father he was than almost any of the men she dealt with on a day-to-day basis.

“It’s these two boys,” she sighed. “The oldest is only thirteen, but he’s already more of a caretaker to his little brother than their father is.” Carl was so warm underneath her. “And I want to tell him how proud I am, of how capable he is, how well he’s done with his brother. But then I think, no child should carry that kind of responsibility, not at that age. When does he get to be a kid? When Sam falls and bruises his knee, Dean looks after him, but who does the same for Dean? It’s just unfair.”

“But he’s safe now.”

“I don’t know...”

“You’re on the case, Daisy, you’ll save him. I know you will.”

“I wish I could have that kind of faith.” She was just so tired of dealing with this stuff, with people dealing so bad with parenthood that they shouldn’t even be allowed to have pets, let alone be responsible for the life of a child.

“You do, that’s why I love you.” His hand brushed past hers. “Those boys are lucky to have you, alright?”

“Carl, I think their father, that he… I think he’s done stuff to Dean. Hurt him, bad. But I don’t have any proof, and I can’t even check for proof, not without hurting him even worse.” She shivered, she had wanted to interrogate either of the boys at the hospital. Push them into telling her what had happened. To have some X-rays done on Sam as well as on Dean. But it would have been too intrusive and Dean was far too damaged as it was to make him even more scared of the authorities than he already was.

“Why?”

“Just things, the way he looks at people, as if he’s expecting them to… want something from him. And I found these books, in their motel room. And then Brenda called. She said that Dean was drawing a pentagram on the floor in front of the door. “

“Daisy, that’s…”

“That man left his children with a shotgun and other guns.” She didn’t know the kind, guns had never held her interest, but… “What if they’d been playing with the thing, and one of them accidentally shot the other? They could have gotten killed. He left them for three days, Carl. Three days, with a gun just lying around under the bed.”

Carl’s finger’s played through her hair, his silver wedding ring hooking into her curls. She wished she could tell him how much she appreciated him, how much it comforted her to have someone to talk to about the darkness she so often dealt with at work. Carl was her link to sanity, but it would feel stupid telling him this. She guessed he probably already knew.

“Maybe. Or maybe the kid’s just shy, Daisy. Maybe it’s not that bad?” She blinked at him. “Some people, they’re so used to dealing with guns, that they don’t think how dangerous they might be. If the boy’s that responsible for his brother, maybe his father thought he needed a gun to protect him. Maybe he just trusted him with it?”  
“He’s thirteen.”

“My dad took me hunting when I was nine. I always got to take care of my own gun, it was a matter of pride.” Carl moved to get them both more comfortable. “Dad always took care to make sure I didn’t aim it at anything I didn’t plan to shoot.”

Daisy couldn’t help thinking about the sense of pride in Dean’s voice when he’d talked about making the sawed-off himself.

“I know it’s wrong, Daisy, but sometimes, parents do stuff that they think is right, because it’s their way to love their children, their way to protect them. And if you look at him as if he’s a bad guy, just for owning some books then well… you might miss the part of him who just loves his kids and wants to keep them safe.”

She wished she could tell him how much she hated it when he was right, but she hit him with her pillow instead. Which led to a tickle attack, which led to…

 

 

*****

From: Zachariah, second seraphim and first Clerk of the 10th Garrison   
To: Azazel, recipient of sin   
Sent: wed Mar 25, 1992   
Subject: re: Urgent developments in the Winchester observation

Heaven keeps its bargains, 

I am sure we can come to an agreement that will benefit both sides.

Zachariah,  
second seraphim and first Clerk of the 10th Garrison  


 

*****

 

Dean was terrified. They’d taken his knife, they were going to take him away from Sammy, and they’d taken his knife. Dean had reacted without thinking this morning. Someone had been standing over him when he woke up, and he’d grabbed the knife from under his pillow as he rolled out of bed, ready to defend himself.

He was lucky that he hadn’t struck to attack or he might have maimed or even killed the older boy.

Mike had screamed as Dean came at him with the knife and Dean had dropped it in shock. Brenda and the big guy she was married to came running into the bedroom. Mike had backed away from him and Sam had looked down from the top bunk, wiping his tiny fingers over his eyes, as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to wake up or not.

Brenda had seen the knife lying there and had picked it up before sending Mike and Sam out of the room. Sam had refused. So now he had crawled down the ladder and sat down next to Dean, leaning up against him. Dean hugged his brother closer to him and shivered, waiting for the verdict.

They were going to take him away, he was sure of it. He was shaking, his blanket barely covering him and Sam. Sam’s body was warmer than the blankets and Dean knew his baby brother was as scared as Dean was.

The door opened again and Brenda came in on her own. She was holding a plate with two cups on it. Whatever was in them was pretty hot, he could see the steam coming off the cups.

Sam wouldn’t let go of Dean though, and Dean didn’t dare look at Brenda, scared to see the fear in her eyes, or worse, that look of guilt that she might get about having to send him away, because 'it’s oh so bad, but it’s all for his own good.' That look, he hated it.

“Dean, Sam, would you boys like some hot chocolate?”

What was it with this woman and chocolate? Was it an addiction or something? Maybe she was some kind of chocolate pusher, trying to get them hooked on the stuff? Wouldn’t that be awesome?

“You really spooked Mike, Dean.” Dean knew what he’d done, thank you very much. “I doubt you know this, but Mike’s father, he liked to play with knives. Hurt him pretty bad.” Bad like the scars on Mike’s face bad? Like these people thought Dad had had done to them? “So when he saw you coming at him with a knife, he…”

“I didn’t come at him with it! I thought I was under attack!” The words came out before Dean could stop himself. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“That’s good, Dean. But you did scare him. Why did you take the knife, sweetie? I promise I won’t be angry.”

Yeah right, as if civilians could ever understand.

 

“I understand you’re scared, Dean. You’re in a strange place, and you’ve got your little brother to look after. But you’re safe here, no one’s going to hurt you, I promise.”  
Dean lost the fight to contain a hysterical chuckle. She just tilted her head and waited for an answer.

“I can’t lose Sam.”

“Dean. Nobody…”

He interrupted her again. “You wouldn’t understand, and then people would take Sam and it’ll be all my fault.” Because that’s what Dad had kept telling him. If he told people about the monsters, they’d think him and Dad were crazy and then social services would come and take Sam away from them and he’d never see him again.

He was almost glad that she didn’t give him some lie, like saying ‘nobody was going to take Sam’, because it was something she couldn’t guarantee. Nobody could.

“Oh, sweetie.” She looked like she was about to hug him again, and he pulled back up against the wall, Sam quickly followed with him, throwing scared looks in between Dean and Brenda.

“They won’t, will they?” Sam begged. “They can’t! I don’t want to go anywhere without Dean! They can’t make me!”

And now Sam was crying and Dean knew it was his fault. Why did he always do everything wrong? If he hadn’t messed up the hunt, then he wouldn’t have gotten hurt and then they’d be back home at the motel with Dad, instead of here with a bunch of strangers.   
In a heartbeat, Sam went from scared to angry the way only obnoxious little brothers were capable of. He let go of Dean and crawled up to the front of the bed, shielding Dean, who still sat behind him.

Sam got out of the bed, crying and screaming that no one could take him away from Dean and Dean just curled up against the wall, hugging his legs. He couldn’t cry. He wasn’t a kid anymore, only little kids cried.

Brenda sat down next to them and pulled Sam into a hug. The kid was sobbing on her shoulder now, crying out in exhaustion. Dean was almost sure that she’d hug him too, if he let her. But she wasn’t his mom. She was just…

Why did Mom have to die?

 

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From: Alistair   
To: Azazel, recipient of sin   
Sent: wed, Mar 25, 1991 8:25 am  
Subject: re: Urgent developments in the Winchester observation

My dear friend,

Flattery will get you everywhere. Just make sure I have a nice furnace to warm my limbs and I’ll see what I can do about your little situation.  
But you will owe me for this.

Alistair  
PS: Someone mind telling Lilith that souls are for torturing, not to play teaparties with?  


 

[ ](http://s850.photobucket.com/albums/ab67/lorekrajsman/?action=view&current=shoes.jpg)

 

Daisy was heading up to the judge’s office when she noticed her boss talking to some sleazy guy in a cheap suit. One of those bill-by-the-hour lawyers that advertised in cheap ads on the local news channels just to drum up business.

She may have gotten used to this kind of man, taking advantage of those too poor to afford a real lawyer, but that didn’t mean she had to like them.

“So we are agreed,” she heard Darren saying. “You sanctimonious twits stay out of the way, and we both get what we want.” The words sounded odd coming out of her supervisor’s mouth. Darren Meekis was a lot of things, but he was not known for his creativity where insulting people was concerned. In fact, she was pretty sure she’d heard him call someone a poopiehead only a month or two ago.

“For once we agree, you vile taint. But only on this.”

Daisy was starting to wonder if she should be getting in between the two of them. It was like waiting for a volcano to erupt.

“Darren?”

“Daisy, I don’t think you’ve met Mister Wilker” There was something wrong with the way he smiled. As if he was enjoying a private joke too big for his body to contain.. “He’s John Winchester’s attorney. Mister Wilker was just trying to arrange a meeting between Mister Winchester and his two sons. Supervised, of course.” He sounded calm and rational, but there was a sick sarcasm in his tone that hid at a deeper meaning.  
For a moment Daisy wondered if she’d just imagined the gleam of empty white in Darren’s eyes as he looked at her.

“No problem, sir. Would you like me to set things up with the Maloneys?” She hoped that the look in her eyes made it clear that she added an ‘are you sure that’s a good idea’ to her question. It hadn’t even been a week. Normally it took longer to set up a first meeting with the parent.

“Yes, if you could.” He turned to her and she could feel the hairs on her arms stand up in warning. “I believe that it would be best for the children to be able to talk to their father, don’t you agree?” Daisy wished he’d talked to her about this first, but there was something about the way Darren looked at her that gave her pause. Don’t interfere, it seemed to scream at her. She tried to shrug it off. It was just Darren, plain old Darren Miles. She knew this man, and he wouldn’t do anything to harm the children. He’d never risk a child’s safety if he could help it.

And really, as long as there was supervision, nothing too bad could happen, right?  
“Don’t tell the boys about the meeting. I would love to see their reaction when they hear they get to see their father. Check their response.”

Daisy tried to protest, the children should at least have time to prepare for the visit. But Darren wouldn’t budge on it. The kids would come and they weren’t to find out what was going to happen until they arrived. Daisy considered just warning Brenda while she was on the phone with her, but Darren wouldn’t leave her alone long enough to give the full story.

So she set it up, waited for school to be over, for the large Subaru to show up in front of the court house. Brenda came out first, while Joe was taking the baby carriage out before putting little Joey in it. Suzie and Mike were fighting about something while Sam and Dean seemed to almost be clinging to one another. They looked terrified of something and seemed unsure of what was going on.

“Hey, Brenda.”

“Daisy, how are you?” The two women hugged one another, ”So what’s this about?” Brenda asked, Daisy was just about to tell her when Darren showed up in the hall behind them. She had no idea where he came from. Noticing Daisy’s distraction, Brenda moved over to the boys. Mike seemed to have grown a bit wary of the kids, and Daisy wondered what was wrong.

“Dean pulled a knife on Mike,” Joe whispered. “He didn’t mean to, but Mike surprised him when he was waking up.”

Daisy could feel her heart freeze in her chest.

“It’s okay, nothing happened, but Dean’s been terrified we’re going to separate him and Sam ever since it happened.” Daisy closed her eyes, forcing her breathing to stay calm. “It wasn’t really either boy’s fault. But we’ve told Dean that he can’t take knives to bed with him. I’m sure he’ll be more careful in the future.”

It only made her worry even more. Maybe the boy should be taken somewhere safer, somewhere that he could get help. But then she saw him sitting with Sam and she realized that his little brother was the only thing Dean had left that gave him hope. Separating those two would destroy the oldest Winchester kid. And sure, it might save Sam—might, no certainty on that—but it would annihilate what little sense of self that the young boy now climbing out of the car had left.

He looked as if he were about to face to the firing squad. Maybe this meeting was a good thing, no matter how much she might wish she had more time to warn the family of what was about to happen.

“I have good news, boys. We’ve set up a meeting between the two of you and your father.”  
Dean’s eyes lit up and for a moment all of his innocence shone through, as if the world was a good place again. Sam seemed torn, happy to see his father, but he kept looking at Brenda and Joe as well. She wondered if she asked them separately, if Sam really would be as eager to go back as Dean was.

“We’ll be there to supervise, but you’ll be able to talk to him. “ She added a quick, but obviously unneeded, “only if you want to, of course.” But she already knew the answer to that one. Dean seemed happy for the first time since she met him, and Sam… Sam seemed happy too.. It didn’t matter what John had done to his children, to Dean, the man was his hero and the young boy would do anything for the man’s approval. And Sam, she had to laugh at the thought, Sam would follow his brother to the moon if he had to, would probably go so far as to steal a spaceship from NASA and rocket away without a second thought if it meant staying with Dean. He didn’t say much, but he had a quiet tenacity about him that could be a little scary.

Joe took Mike and the younger kids with him to the cafeteria, while Brenda accompanied the Winchester boys upstairs to the meeting rooms. She hesitated a bit before leaving. Sam took her hand and held back a moment before hugging her. Brenda patted his back, letting him hold on for a moment, before letting go. “I’ll be right downstairs.” She whispered to both boys. Dean made a show of ignoring her.

Daisy opened the door, noticing the police officer keeping watch in the hall. They shared a look of understanding between them. From the looks he was throwing at the room, he’d already met the irresistible force that was John Winchester. It made her wonder if there was anyone that the elder Winchester couldn’t manage to piss off. She braced herself before entering, the boys right behind her. John Winchester stood at the window, his hands rested on the windowsill.

“Dad!” John turned around and from one moment to another all of Sam’s doubts and hesitations were gone as Sam ran up to his father and into his arms. Dean hesitated a second longer before joining them. They held on to one another for dear life and for a moment Daisy couldn’t help but wonder that maybe they’d been wrong.. Maybe John really was a good dad, who cared for his kids. Maybe Dean really did get hurt riding a bike and maybe… maybe there were reasons why anyone would leave two kids on their own for four days without even as much as a phone call.

Maybe…

“How did it go?” was the first thing Dean asked after letting go. _How did what go?_

“Fine.” John held Dean’s face, looking at the bruises. “Pastor Jim sent some help. Guy called Travis.”

“Cool.”

Daisy stayed at the door, ready to help the boys, but keeping herself out of the way so she wouldn’t disrupt the reunion.

“What the fuck were you thinking , Dean?”

Daisy didn’t think she imagined the flinch in Dean’s stance.

“Sir?”

“They tell me you had a concussion for crying out loud. Where the fuck was your mind, not telling me you blacked out after. How the fuck am I supposed to trust you, when you can’t even bother to let me know all the information I need for a mission? When you don’t give me a full sit rep? How can I expect you to look after Sammy, if you can’t even look after yourself?” The elder Winchester’s voice was rising with every word.

“Mister Winchester,” Daisy tried to intervene, but from the look of it, she might as well have been invisible.

“I’m sorry, sir.” Dean seemed even smaller, standing before his father. “I just…”

“After the fucking shtriga, I thought you learned better. I thought you understood your responsibilities, Dean. I thought I could count on you to be a good soldier.” And somehow the calm in his voice was worse than the previous anger, mostly because the disappointment in it seemed to literally be destroying the boy in front of it. As if Winchester was carving his disapproval into his son.

What kind of man was this, to even consider something of this kind as acceptable?

“I just didn’t think.”

“You never think.”

She could see Sam flinching under his father’s words, just as much as she did. He seemed ready to jump in between his father and brother, but didn’t. She couldn’t understand why, since he clearly wanted to. Or maybe she did.

Dean wasn’t shaking, too frozen in his father’s glare.

“You needed the money and… I didn’t think we could spare anything for the hospital, and I was fine, it was just for a few seconds,” Dean whispered.

For a moment Daisy feared that John was going to hit his son. She was about to step in between them, to get help, and then the man grabbed the boy in a hug as if he was never going to let go. It seemed like minutes, but only lasted a few seconds.

“God, Dean. I need you to understand this. When you’re hurt, when you need a doctor, you need to tell me. I need to know. I don’t care how much money it costs.”

Dean tried to interrupt but his father wouldn’t let him. “There will always be money for something like that, do you understand? Always, no matter what I have to do to get it.”

She looked through the room and saw Darren standing there, watching through the hall window. He was staring at the boys much like a scientist pondering the best way to go about the dissection of a new specimen. She shivered at the way he was licking his lips as he did so. Wilker joined him, his face twisted and foul, but he didn’t say a word, just stared at the Winchesters in that same calculating fashion. It left Daisy confused and shaken to the core.

 

 

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From: Alistair   
To: Azazel, recipient of sin   
Sent: thur, Apr 2, 1992   
Subject: re: Urgent developments in the Winchester observation

Remember that debt you owe me?

Consider it doubled. Those angels are simply… atrocious. Rude, hypocritical and behaving like the whole world rests in their shadows. 

Do we truly need those … children, to solve this situation? I think I could use some feathers for my bed. 

 

[ ](http://s850.photobucket.com/albums/ab67/lorekrajsman/?action=view&current=shoes.jpg)

 

“Do we have to go back?” Sam’s question came like a thunderclap in clear air. Dean looked at him, stunned. “Maybe it’s easier this way,” Sam whispered, his attention focused on a drawing he was working on. “Dad could go on hunting, without having to worry about us, and we could just stay here with Brenda and Joe and Mike and Suzie and Joey and go to school and I could go learn karate like Mike or play soccer and…”

Dean raised his hand, stopping his brother’s avalanche of words with a single glare. Or at least attempting to do so. “I like Brenda,” Sam continued. “She’s nice and Suzie says she always makes special birthday presents for the kids in the house. Can’t we stay, at least until my birthday?”

Dean had never wanted to hit his brother as much as he did now.

“Don’t you like it here, Dean?”

And that was the worst part, because Dean did like Brenda. He did like being allowed to watch cartoons and know someone else was watching over Sam. He liked it that when he offered to help around the house, he was told not to, because his shoulder hadn’t healed yet. He even liked that there was a chore list, dividing the chores amongst everyone in the house. And he still giggled at the idea of it.

But no matter how nice Brenda was, or how much fun Joe could be as they sat in front of the television and he kept mocking characters in certain soaps, they weren’t John and Mary Winchester and they never would be.

“If we go back, Dad will always have to worry about us, and he can’t go save people sometimes because of school. If we stayed here, he wouldn’t have to be angry so much.”  
Dean balled his fists and got up from the couch, ignoring his brother.

“I don’t like moving around all the time, Dean. I don’t like that I never get to make friends.” Dean didn’t either, but they were Hunters and the monsters weren’t all nice like the ones in Batman, that just all decided to move to Gotham to make things easier on the hero. “And I like Brenda’s cooking. She makes real food, instead of Spaghetti-o's.”

Dean closed his eyes. He knew his cooking skills sucked, knew he wasn’t taking care of Sam like Mom had done for him. But he was trying, didn’t Sam get that?

“Dad needs us.” And that’s that. End of story, end of discussion …

“To do what? Watch his back? Can’t uncle Bobby do that? Or Pastor Jim or an adult, any adult?” Dean froze in place. Sure, he liked his dad’s friends, but how could he trust them to keep Dad safe? They weren’t family.

“It’s because of Dad you got hurt, Dean. If Dad didn’t have us ‘watching his back’, that skinwalker wouldn’t have hurt you. He could have killed you and he would have, because Dad thought it was fine to take us with him.”

“Sam.”

“I saw him grab you and twist your arm and throw you against the car, and all I could do was watch, Dean! I couldn’t even help you! And Dad… he was too busy fighting the other skinwalkers to stop them from hurting you. I’m sorry, Dean. I know Dad needs us, but… I need you too. And I don’t want some monster to kill you.”

Dean was about to answer Sam, when he looked up at the door and saw Brenda standing there. He stormed out of the room and up to his and Sam’s bedroom before she could start asking questions.

 

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	4. Betrayal

